Leslie LaFoy (43 page)

To his everlasting credit, the carrier stepped closer and made an interested inspection of the game grid. “Very nicely done, Tiny. Maybe someday you can work at the post office.”

Tiny sucked a deep gasp of awed consideration. “Really? I would like that.”

Nodding, Zachary handed him two packets.

“Look, Jack! Look, Lindsay!” Tiny exclaimed, whirling around, the packets tightly gripped in both hands. “I got
two
mails!” He quickly dropped down beside Lindsay on the steps, saying with sudden solemnity, “Watch how I do this. It's important.”

“We're watching,” Jack drawled from his spot on the walk.

“No,” Tiny protested, looking up at him and shaking his head. “You got to sit down on the steps with me so you can see.”

With a shrug and a good-humored smile, Jack obeyed the command.

“Here, Jack. Hold this for me,” Tiny said, thrusting the
smaller of the two packets into his hands. “And don't let anything happen to it, either. It's my rent money.”

“I'll guard it with my life.”

“Now, I open this letter and see,” Tiny said, leaning close to Lindsay so she could see him tearing the seal. “Inside there's another one.” He pulled it out and handed it to her as he looked and reached inside, adding, “And the two pennies.”

Lindsay looked at the packet he'd given her. It was addressed to herself at the MacPhaull Company offices.

Tiny took if from her hands, quickly showed it to Jack, and then rose to his feet saying, “Then I get up and I give the letter to Zachary. See?”

Jack nodded slowly. “Yep, we see.”

“Well done as always, Tiny,” Zachary said, giving him a sharp salute. He turned away, adding, “See you next week.”

“Wait, Zachary!” Tiny called after him, clearly panicked. “I have to give you the two pennies from the other letter.”

The carrier turned and walking backward, said, “Keep them for yourself. Go buy some peppermints or licorice.”

Again Tiny gasped in awe. Then he waved and yelled, “Thank you! 'Bye, Zachary! 'Bye!”

Lindsay smiled, finding comfort in the kindness Zachary displayed toward Tiny, and in the knowledge that the young man wasn't all alone in world, that there were people who would watch out for him. The touch on the shoulder came lightly and quick. She turned to find Jack holding out the packet Tiny claimed held his rent money. She didn't note the address; she couldn't see anything beyond the elegant and very familiar penmanship. Her heart twisted and her eyes filled with tears.

Jack watched the color drain out of her face and felt his stomach knot. As tears gathered in her eyes, Tiny turned and said, “Zachary's nice to me. He's my friend, too.”

“He is indeed,” Jack numbly agreed, his gaze never leaving Lindsay's grief-stricken face. “Here's your rent money,” he said, handing over the packet. “Better take it straight in to Mrs. O'Brien.”

“See, Lindsay?” he said, flashing the packet in her direction before dashing up the steps. “My rent money came just like I said it would. I'll be right back.”

The front door was slamming closed behind him when Jack softly asked, “Who's handwriting is it, Lindsay?”

She wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection. Tears spilled over her lashes as she rocked forward and back and sobbed out, “Abigail's.”

His chest tightened. “Oh, Jesus.” The one person in the world that Lindsay relied on, the one person she'd trusted all her life. Aching for her, he slid across the step and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Drawing her to him, he whispered, “Cry all you want, sweetheart. I understand.”

She fisted his lapels, burying her face in his chest, and in that instant he understood far more than the pain she felt at discovering Abigail Beechum's involvement. He'd chosen to be alone, had found his comfort in the isolation of his heart and his daily existence. Lindsay was alone, not because she wanted to be, but because everyone in the course of her life had either used, abused, or abandoned her. She deserved better. The unfairness of it made his throat burn and swell.

For Tiny's two cents, he'd pack her up and take her to Texas with him. She could live at Billy's place, and while their passion was likely to fade over time, at least she'd still have a friend she could trust, a friend she could talk to. It wasn't ideal, but it was a helluva lot better than what she had here. There'd be money for her, too. Half the ranch he owned had been her father's; it was only right that she take some of the profits. Besides, he wouldn't have any of it without her help in getting the money to pay the debts and clear the title.

But, now that he thought about it, it wasn't likely that she'd be a spinster living in her daddy's house for long. Just because he didn't want to complicate his life and risk his heart again didn't mean that there weren't men who were willing to do that. Hell, Texas was full of men who could appreciate an intelligent and beautiful woman. There'd be a
line ten miles long to court her and it'd start forming the minute she put her dainty foot on the dock at Galveston. She could have her pick of the bunch and he'd make sure only the best got into the line. Lindsay could have a family of her own and she'd get the life she deserved. She'd be happy. He'd be happy. And her husband would be over the moon ecstatic with his good fortune and live every moment of his life only to see that Lindsay never wanted for anything. If he didn't, then he'd have to face Jackson Stennett's two-fisted wrath.

Of course, he had to figure out how to get Lindsay to leave New York in the first place. Just explaining his plan wouldn't do it. She'd claim that she needed to stay to take care of Henry and Agatha. She'd explain how she couldn't leave the business and how she couldn't just dismiss her household staff and—

“Why is Lindsay crying?”

Jack started and hugged her hard before he looked up at Tiny. “She's sad because we have to go home now.”

“Will you come back and play with me tomorrow?”

God, he wished he could say “yes.” He wished it with all his heart. The last two days had been wonderfully simple and pure and easy.

“No, Tiny,” Lindsay said, taking a shuddering breath and gently extracting herself from his embrace. Wiping away her tears with the palms of her hands, she explained, “I wish we could, but we can't. We can't come back again. Our home is a long way away.” She smiled up at the simple soul. “But we'll write you letters all the time.”

“And I'll send you a new top, too,” Jack added.

Again, Tiny gasped in awe and appreciation. “Thank you, Jack!”

“Thank you for letting us watch you do your job,” Lindsay managed to say, before she choked on a fresh wave of tears.

Dear, sweet, mothering Lindsay. Jack put his arm around her shoulders and gently drew her down the walk, determined for her sake to end the parting as quickly as he could. “ 'Bye, Tiny,” he called. “Be good!”

“ 'Bye, Jack! 'Bye, Lindsay!” Tiny merrily called after them. “Thank you for showing me how to make hopscotch numbers!”

S
HE'D STOPPED CRYING
about halfway back to the hotel, but Jackson couldn't help thinking that he'd rather face her tears than the deep silence into which she'd fallen. He stood just inside her room, studying her as she stared blankly out the window.

“He'll be all right, Lindsay,” he ventured softly, trying yet again to comfort her. “He has Mrs. O'Brien to make sure he has a roof and food and clothing. Zachary seems the sort to watch out for him, too.”

“I know. You're right.”

“And I'm sure there's some logical explanation for why Mrs. Beechum's the one sending him the rent money every week,” he offered, grasping at the only other straw he could think of. “All we'll have to do is ask and she'll tell us and it will make perfect sense. We'll discover that she doesn't know anything about the second packet with the return letter inside.”

“That would be nice.”

She clearly didn't believe in the possibility any more than he did. Damnation. He hated seeing her so despondent. God knew she had reason enough to wallow in misery for the next month, but he just couldn't bear to see her unhappy. He needed to distract her somehow, give her something to think about other than leaving Tiny behind and Mrs. Beechum's apparent betrayal.

He could nibble his way down her neck and lead her to bed. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. It rankled to think that she might go just to appease him. Better to thoroughly distract her first, and
then
take her to bed. Icing on the cake. And Lindsay was, without a doubt and bar none, the best cake he'd ever tasted.

Jackson smiled weakly, knowing that she'd have his gizzard if he ever had the sorry misjudgment to tell her that he considered her as something to be served up on a plate. He wanted to distract her, yes, but making her blazing mad
didn't seem the way to go about it. There had to be a safer, more productive course.

He considered telling her about his idea of her going to live in Billy's house in Texas and finding herself a husband. Somehow, though, he suspected that she was so miserable that she wouldn't be willing to look at happier possibilities. Given that, she'd likely dismiss the idea out of hand and he'd get nowhere with it. It would be smarter to save it for another time so it'd have a better chance of being seriously considered.

He raked his fingers through his hair. What could they talk about or do that would draw her out of the dark shadows? Business was always a good bet with Lindsay. It was nice and safe and the puzzles of it always fascinated her. Was there anything they needed to talk about? The division of the remaining MacPhaull properties came to mind. Another possibility bolted into his awareness and he instantly saw both the need and potential in it.

“I'll be back in just a minute,” he said, turning on his heel. “I need to get something from my bag.”

Lindsay watched his reflection in the glass and when he'd gone, she blinked back another wave of tears. He was trying so hard to cheer her and she felt awful for being so inconsolable. And that was just one more brick on the load weighting her shoulders. Jack had accepted the possibility of thievery days ago, but while she'd been willing to entertain the idea on an intellectual level, she hadn't really believed it was possible. She'd held out hope. That hope had been mortally wounded the moment Tiny had produced the packet addressed to her. There
was
a plot to strip the company of assets and she couldn't deny it. Someone had betrayed her trust.

And then to recognize Abigail Beechum's handwriting on the packet containing Tiny's rent money, and to know that the woman who had been like a mother to her for as long as she could remember … Lindsay blinked back tears and squared her shoulders. She'd cried enough. Tears didn't accomplish anything. She needed to think, needed to understand the workings of the whole mess. Unless she could, there was no hope of finding a way out of it.

Ben and Otis Vanderhagen had been involved in the correspondence. Jack already suspected the attorney's involvement in the scheme. But Ben … Lindsay's stomach grew leaden. He was loyal to a fault. Or so she had always thought. She'd believed the same thing about Abigail and been proven wrong. It was entirely possible she'd misjudged Ben as well. Was she truly that blind and trusting? Was she truly that alone and friendless in the world? Was everyone laughing behind her back?

Everyone except Jackson Stennett, she told herself. But the hope in that thought was tempered by the memory of how he'd flinched and walked away from her when Tiny had asked his questions about babies and marriage. What she had with Jack went no deeper than a mutual respect and the physical pleasure they found in each other. And it would come to an end the day Jackson went back to Texas. She'd known that from the very beginning. Despite that, Jack's distancing had hurt. It had reminded her that she wasn't worth the risk of his heart. She wasn't worth the risk to anyone's heart. Her only value rested in the properties that could be stolen from her.

Tears welled in her eyes again, but she wasn't capable of banishing them this time. They spilled over her lashes and rolled down her cheeks as she saw the years ahead unfolding—friendless and loveless, cold and dark. Her days would be filled only with dreary obligations and joyless responsibilities, her nights lying alone in her bed remembering Jack and the exquisite pleasure she'd known with him.

Enough!
she silently railed at herself, scrubbing away her tears.
Enough of the self-pity, Linds. Life is what you make it. You can always run away.
She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to see the ageless images that had always been her refuge in times of crisis. But this time she deliberately changed them; the oxen didn't die on parched prairie. They survived and so did she. A saloon, she decided impetuously. She'd own a saloon and wear outrageously colorful clothes. She'd drink whiskey and smoke cigars. In public. She'd play cards and win. And she'd never be alone. Her world would be filled with people who laughed and appreciated the haven she provided them. Yes, they'd all be
strangers to her, but at least she'd know them for what they were. Never again would she be caught trusting and believing in loyalty and friendship and love.

“Lindsay?”

Her tears dried, she turned from the window. Jack stood just inside the door to her room, his hands in his pockets and an uncertain look in his eyes.

“There's something I've been needing to tell you.”

“And you haven't wanted to,” she guessed.

“Nope.”

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she crossed the room. “How bad could it be, Jack?” she asked, stopping in front of him. “It certainly couldn't be any worse than any of the other discoveries I've had today.”

“I suppose it can't,” he agreed with slight shrug. Pulling his hand from his pocket, he handed her a folded piece of paper while he asked, “Do you recognize the handwriting?”

She opened it and the words leapt up at her.
LEAVE

OR DIE
.

“Oh God, Jack,” she whispered, staring at the note, her heart racing, her thoughts scattered. She couldn't bear it if something horrible happened to him.